


Fourthcoming

by ladygrange



Category: Jimmy Page - Fandom, Led Zeppelin, classic rock - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Hint of Angst, but no sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 06:05:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16717793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladygrange/pseuds/ladygrange





	Fourthcoming

The key won’t fit at first, her hand shakes too much. She whispers a curse and gets the door open on the fourth try. No light, nothing to indicate that he’s home. Disappointment overwhelms her, tightens her shoulders into a tense line. The kitchen is empty, bedrooms as well, even the front room. A thorny knot forms in her throat and stings her eyes. She doesn’t think to turn on the lights as she searches, pacing around in darkness instead. Agitated, she doesn’t even see the well-used bags she’d helped pack scarcely three weeks ago leaning against the love seat. The absurdity of losing one man in a place small as Pangbourne pushes a frustrated laugh from her throat. It cuts off at the thud of footsteps below her, near the boat launch. 

She pulls the door to the basement stairs so hard it smacks loudly against the frame. Jimmy’s taking the steps two at a time, eating up the distance, using the railing to pull himself up. Half his face is shadowed with beard. She’ll take it between her thighs later, for melting kisses that get lost deep inside. For now, she grabs him and sinks her fingers into the hair at his cheeks and meets his mouth. She stops a centimeter from the kiss, eyebrows drawn.

“I was looking for you,” she accuses thickly.

“And I was looking for  _ you _ , my darling,” he says, her upper arms tight in his grip. “What took you so long?”

She shakes her head. “Traffic, stupid...” She means for better phrasing, not rapid, tongue-tripped speech that follows, “The flight? You’re good? Everything...” She finally settles. “I missed you.”

His eyes crease and he nuzzles her hair. “I’ve missed you, too, my darling. Feels like I’ve been searching for an hour. You’ll teleport next time, yes?”

“Yes, yes,” she replies through hunting kisses on her neck, the quick swipe of his tongue. 

The well rises up and she wants him naked but she doesn’t trust her voice to sustain the message, leaving it to the look. Jimmy nods and lets her take his hand. She leads him upstairs to their bedroom, the four posters of his bed gleaming amber in the lamp she switches on. Jimmy shuts the door in a quiet snap and stands behind her. He indulges her exploration at his nape with a watchful gaze, patience with an edge. Her mind tangled, she tries to figure out what she wants to do next. She decides on the recovery, the uncovering. 

First the coat, that warm herringbone pattern he’s so fond of, with its broad lapels and spacious pockets. She folds it carefully and sets it on the side table. His jacket goes next. Brown material, worn soft, slides off his shoulders and arms into her hands. It end up in a neat square on top of the tweed coat. Her eyes flit to his, their curiosity turned to longing. She sets her lip between her teeth in a determined manner and reaches for his scarf. The navy silk is polka dotted and knotted loosely around his neck. His adam's apple bobs at the light touch of her hands. With a swish, she slides the fabric off his neck then tucks it in the pocket of his jacket. 

Palms at his collar bones, she follows the pattern of his sweater vest, the endless connection of lambdas woven in the beige wool. Jimmy’s chest rises and falls quickly when she presses a kiss over his heartbeat. His hands briefly graze her bottom but they fall away at her warning look. She slides her hands under the sweater vest, to the crumples warmth of his button down underneath, and pushes the clothing off. 

“Arms up,” she instructs, her voice uneven. 

A smile tinges his lips as he obeys but he’s still got that expression: intent, following her with eagerness. On her tiptoes, she pulls it over his head. Curls get caught in his beard and between his parted lips, partially obscuring his vision. She sweeps a hand over his face to clear him off and Jimmy steals a kiss on her fingers. She focuses on the jumper, matching the seams together, to avoid showing him the blushing extent of her want. It joins the growing pile of clothes a minute later. Her thumbs travel the vertical lines of his dress shirt, from one rib to the next, down to the open patch near his waistband. The missed button gapes to show his belly button and the fine trail of hair that leads below. She hooks her thumb inside the space and chances a look at Jimmy. His breathing is roughened now, cheeks pink, eyes darkened. Her forefinger joins her thumb to rub at his skin, the light scrape of a nail making him flinch forward. Eyes on him she open the button above and her entire hand presses against his abdomen; his tongue flicks out, whetting his bottom lip. She imagines pulling him to her for the kiss she knows is waiting on those lips, the soft abrasion of his beard on her skin. She refocuses at his tone.

“Alright, darling?” Jimmy asks, tone low and raspy.

She nods, her hand slips away, and she unbuttons the rest of his shirt before tugging it free from his waistband. The time, she lets the shirt falls to the floor. Dark hair swirls high on his chest, almost to his neck. She puts her hand there and sifts them through the hair, noting the muscle that jumps at her touch. She’ll reach for his niples later, take each one in her mouth and savor her name sighing from his lips. But now, she goes lower, for the jeans resting low on his hips. Colorful, intricate embroidery lines the tops of the front pockets; it’d taken her ages to get that done between long plane rides to concerts. She smiles, remembering him modelling the finished product to her in Manchester. Her fingers dance along to the button and then the zipper. She looks down, frowns, then looks to him. 

“I forgot your shoes,” she says, dismayed and solemn, provoking a smile from Jimmy.

“Get to it, then,” he nods.

The sneaker are old and were once white but she can’t remember the last time they were. They come off and with a nudge, he lifts each ankle so she can take his socks off. His toes wiggle into the carpet, impatient and aware. She tugs his hems by way of an order: keep still. He does. She rises to her feet and reaches around his waist, below the denim to his cotton boxers. Jimmy tenses while she strips his jeans off, breath held and only released when she passes over the straining ridge of his erection without a glance. She turns away to fold them this time, ignoring the urge to make a mad frenzy of the final piece. She’s too aware of her own pulse, trudging desire down to her knees. Her hands freeze on his trousers. 

“My darling, come here.”

She nibbles her lip and shakes her head.

“I’m not done,” she protests, turning to face him once more.

His jaw is set, lips pressed together, his posture barely restrained. She soothes a kiss along his inner arm, tasting the skin and quickly nuzzles her face there before reaching for his underwear. The curve of his bottom jumps under her proprietary pat. Jimmy steps out of them with no hesitation. His erection stands proudly against his belly, the tip swollen already. She makes a plan to kiss that, too. To have him in all ways. But Jimmy takes her face and opens her lips with his insistent tongue, demolishing her plans with one swipe. Her fingers dig into his wrists, heat gathers under her clothes and between their bodies. Locked in his hold, she can barely secure an inches distance. When she does, she says, almost breathless.

“Wait, I’m not done.”

“Yes,” Jimmy says in a searing breath, “you are. It’s my turn, darling.”


End file.
